Bright Blue Eyes
by sasimljemihuddy
Summary: Rachel reflects on her life. House/Cuddy, and House/Rachel bonding! lots of cute! one shot. I refuse to accept Bombshells and am pretending it never happened in this story.


Bright blue eyes. That was my first memory of him. His name is Gregory House, but everyone calls him House. Uncle Wilson tried calling him Greg once, it didn't turn out great.

He's almost always been around. But when I was two he started coming around more often. I only know this from what Wilson told me. My earliest memory is when I was three. I walked into the kitchen one morning and found them sitting at the table, Mom and House. They were laughing about something, I never knew what.

Just before I turned 4, I called him "Dad" for the first time. His face was a mixture of shock, confusion, and a hint of anger. I expected him to yell and tell me never to call him that again. But he didn't. I'm not sure, but I think he almost smiled. Even though I still called him House from time to time, this was who he was from then on.

My first day of kindergarten, I watched him and my mom from the classroom window. He stood with my mom outside the classroom waiting to pick me up. He was twirling his cane and looked bored. The other parents looked curiously at him, wondering whether he was really a parent, surely _this _guy couldn't be responsible? They must not have noticed the put-together woman sitting next to him who dragged him along.

I didn't know until I was 6 that it hadn't always been like this, Mom, House and me. Wilson said something in passing that made me realize that my family wasn't the in the norm. Yes, I knew I was adopted and that my parents weren't married like most of my classmates, and I was ok with that. That was my life and it was pretty good. But I never really thought there was anything other than that before.

When I confronted Wilson about it he bit his lip, trying to figure out how to explain this. "You know House and your mom are… different, right?" he asked.

"Duh." I replied.

"Ok well they have always been. They loved each other for a very long time but didn't start dating until you were two." He said this with the air of explaining physics to a toddler, slow and steady.

I frowned. "There's more."

Wilson sighed. "Yes there is. I will tell you when you're older, ok?"

I frowned again, but knew this was the best offer I was going to get.

And so life went on.

First grade wasn't the greatest. My teacher was horrible to me. If something went wrong, I was blamed. If my homework wasn't turned in because a kid stole it, I would be called a liar and sent to the office. I would go home and cry about it and mom would comfort me while House stood in the corner. About halfway through the comfort-session, he would cave and sit down next to mom and me.

When parent-teacher conferences came up, House didn't need to be persuaded to go. In fact, he insisted to go. Nobody knew why until the day of the conference.

He burst through the door and started yelling at my teacher. I was shocked. I had seen House crabby, happy, in love, pissed off, frustrated, and once I had seen him sad, but this was beyond angry. It was that day I realized he wasn't just tolerating me. He really cared.

I turned 8 and went straight to Wilson. "I'm older." I said. "Tell me the story."

Wilson shook his head and told me to go back to the party. The same thing happened every year.

When I was 14 I went to my first big party. I took my first drink, along with a bunch of other kids. It took a few hours, but I realized I had to get out of there. I called House.

When he arrived outside the door, the car stopped so suddenly the tires screeched.

"Get in." he said quietly.

His medical training kicked in the moment we drove away, testing my reflexes and pulse.

"Well you didn't drink enough to die." He said.

"I'm sorry." I said.

House didn't say anything.

"Are you gonna tell mom?" I asked.

"No." he replied.

Mom never knew about that night. House kept his promise. And that meant the world to me.

When I was 15 I got my first boyfriend. His name was Hunter. Mom was happy for me, but House was skeptical. The first time Hunter came to pick me up, House made it clear, he hurts me and he dies.

A little less than a year later, we broke up. It was a Monday. I came home in tears and House immediately knew what had happened. He grabbed his coat and started limp running into the rain, but mom held him back. "But!" he protested. Mom just shook her head. She kissed him once, and then led him back to the couch.

I barely slept that whole week. Wednesday night I gave up and went out to the living room to watch TV. I got through half a show before House came out.

"Can't sleep?" he asked as he sat down next to me.

"I don't want to fall asleep. I don't know if I'll get up." I said.

House nodded. "I can empathize. Almost everyone can. But you'll be fine." He said.

We sat in silence for a while.

"Wilson told me you asked about Cuddy's and my past." House said.

I nodded.

"It will take all night for me to tell you the whole story." He warned.

"I don't care." I said.

And so he told me everything. I had guessed they were screwed up, but not like this. I couldn't understand how someone could spend so long denying their feelings. House told me about his drug addiction, the hallucinations, rehab, everything. I was shocked, though I should've suspected it before. We never had any type of pain meds in the house stronger than IBProvin.

He told me about how he almost relapsed, how mom was his savior ("She always was." He said.) And how they finally got together.

"And now you know." He said.

"You guys are crazy." I said.

House smiled.

I didn't have a normal family, but it was a perfect family for me.


End file.
